We lay my love and I beneath the weeping willow
But now alone I lie and weep beside the tree
Singing “O willow waly” by the tree that weeps with me
Singing “O willow waly” till my lover return to me
When I was a little girl, I always wanted to have a weeping willow tree in my yard. There were three big willows near a little creek in my neighborhood, and whenever I saw them, I thought they were just the most beautiful trees. I loved to sneak away and sit underneath them and read, even though they were definitely sitting on someone else’s property and I was definitely trespassing. Kids don’t think about stuff like that.
My mom used to say weeping willows look messy, but I think there’s beauty in a certain amount of chaos. I’d be lying if I said the willow on the property wasn’t one of the reasons I wanted to buy this house.
A couple of weeks ago, a friend came over and spent some (socially distanced) time on our back patio. As we were chatting and enjoying a fire and some wine on what turned out to be a pretty chilly fall evening, he pointed to the willow in the field. He said that in Persian culture (his culture), the willow tree is a symbol of love, and that there’s a term for a willow tree that’s gone crazy from being in love, “beed-e majnoon,” which translates to “crazy willow.” That feels right, doesn’t it, for the tree that my mom used to call “messy?”
This week, I watched the first episode of The Haunting of Bly Manor. I perked up a little bit when I heard one of the main characters sing a few lines from “O Willow Waly.” It’s funny how the universe works sometimes. See, I’d been thinking about our conversation about the willow tree, and I couldn’t quite get it out of my head. You know those moments that you just can’t shake – like you’ll need them for later, like they’re not quite done with you yet.
I feel like our willow has a story to tell, one of these days, and that it’s my responsibility to tell it, when the time comes.
I wonder what it will be.